I liked the idea of going to college. I had interests in biology, medicine, the mind, the body, how it all worked. I didn't have anything in mind, but I wanted to learn.... Now I work in a pharmacy, handing out medications to anybody with a valid prescription. There's some good to it, with the antibiotics, analgesics, and antivenoms. It's not an enjoyable job and there was no real reason to stay there besides a steady paycheck. I say was because now I have a reason. So, for now, I'll keep being a pharmacy technician. That way I can be right in front and see it with my own eyes. Not that this is the only place, but it's a good, good start. Whenever I hear the bell up front, I take a look and hope I find some happy, smiling human being. Somebody I can leave alone. They help keep me going.
I can see it everywhere. Emotional shit. It's almost in the air. That might be why it's so dry and bitter around this city. You can only stand it for so long, like sticking your head in a sewer. I see depression and misery walking past schoolyards and playgrounds, staring through windows of houses, and walking through the front doors of this store. I see a lot of them coming in for their medications, hoping someday they'll be happy like everyone else. Sometimes it happens, and I'd be happy for them if I knew them. Their lives are shit because of other people or some temporary physical condition, something that can be remedied with science and perseverance and they do. Then there are the ones with things that will never go away. The shit they're stewing in because it's seeping out of their pores, because it's a part of their body and they can't do anything about it. The ones who survive say it makes them stronger, but they only live to spread it. It's in their genes and they're spreading it like a virus. I studied mental health and human biology when I was in college. There are a lot of them. Manic depression, congenital heart defects, forms of sclerosis and epilepsy, borderline personality and cognitive disorders, spina bifida, autism, schizophrenia, lots of syndromes with names in front of them, those can be genetic. Some of them don't even have medications because the prognosis includes the words 'no known treatment', the ones that are so bad I don't even need their prescriptions to know something is wrong with them and that it'll never go away. You can tell by how they act or look, and I guarantee that someone is miserable because of them, whether it's themselves or someone close to them. It's too much and something has to be done about it. Society is fucking itself over with it's own humanity. I understand it. They're right too. What I do is inhumane and brutal and I have no right to do it. It's funny how they're wrong at the same time.
The obvious ones are the easiest to find, and it comes down to following them home, waiting until they're alone somewhere, and making sure no one will hear what happens. I get those if I'm lucky. It usually it isn't that easy. I look at the prescriptions. You've heard the brandnames. Thorazine, Paxil, Zoloft, Prozac, and a lot more all used to treat genetic mental disorders. You have to be careful when going by medicines, though. Like how Ludiomil can treat neurotic depression and involutional melancholia, that second one being a name for what you feel like after several shitty days in a row. Prozac also treats bulimia nervosa and obsessive-compulsive disorder. Yeah, they're miserable, but their genes aren't to blame and I don't feel like getting rid of some stupid kid who might go and kill themselves anyway.
I've been doing this for two months. I've only gotten better because I had to learn pretty quick. You can't just stab someone and hope that they die. It's not that easy. People are more resilient than that. You have to keep going if you want to be cautious. Lungs, heart, spine, stomach, brain, neck, all the important internal organs and blood vessels. I tried being surgical about it once or twice, after I started using the chloroform, going for each one to make sure. It would've been easier if I had gotten a heavy rock and smashed them to death with it. I couldn't keep it up when I did it that second time. I just started... hacking away. It's worked, as much as I hate it, but if that's how I have to do it then that's how I'll do it.
Bio Vampire: Standard
Sometimes I can't even do that. I stab and then I pull, as hard as I can. Carve. I've been doing it more and more lately. It's... thrilling. I get a big, fevered rush that sloshes and burns in my head. I go faster just to keep up with it. It drives me somehow. I'm not sure why and it fucking scares me. It's too surreal, but I remember it and the body's there and I have to wash the blood off me when I'm done. I'm afraid it's taking control, that it was this thing waiting inside my head waiting to do what it wanted. But I try to remember that it's just the adrenal rush and that it's completely natural. I haven't experienced adrenaline racing through my head much. It's an unfamiliar sensation to me. It has to be adrenaline.
Closed Mind: Standard
People said I was a nice guy, even if I was surly, threatening bastard sometimes. I bought into it. I don't think anybody would think that when they found out what I've been doing. That's what makes this harder. I never thought I'd have all this goddamned blood on my hands. I never thought I'd have hurt anybody never mind end their lives in the way that I do. It's brutal. I'm causing a lot of anger and pain, things I've known and felt. But I'm not doing this for the here and now, I'm not doing this to ease burdens, and I'm not doing this for myself. I'm doing this for the long run. That's what I have to remember. I have to stop thinking about the shit I put those people through, that few minutes of condensed agony I've grown to hate. I have to stop thinking about how they're my victims and I have a body count. I have to stop thinking about how their screams sounded in the beginning and what the human body looked like splayed out in front of me in such a goddamned mess. I have to stop thinking about the people that love them. And I have to stop thinking about how ironic my last name is. It's one of those last names you don't think about until someone points it out for you. Like Crusher, Hook, or Lynch. It's just a surname you have. It's a label for me.
Induced Sleep: Supreme
- Weakness: Power in Item - Hard to Lose
- Weakness: Limited Uses - Multi-Use
Christ. I'll never be able to get over those first few times. The way they screamed, it... split my head open. I could almost say that the only reason I kept going was to get them to stop, but it would be too late by then and it wouldn't go away. You know how really bad songs get stuck in your head sometimes? It's nothing like that. They stretch in my ears. They keep screaming like I never killed them and they suddenly don't have to worry about breathing anymore. I learned fast. I stole a bottle of chloroform from the chemical labs at my college. I had to learn how to stabilize it and store it properly, even how to check for phosgene in case anything goes wrong. It came in a small bottle and breaks down quick even when stored properly. I have to ration until I can find someplace else that still uses it. I have to be careful. It'll knock out almost anything if they breathe enough of it. This stuff is strong. It used to be an anesthetic until someone found out it was toxic. Sometimes there are comas, sometimes cancer, sometimes there's even death. It's always better if they die before I start, even if they are numb. They don't feel it. At least I don't have to worry about anybody who inhales too much of it. They usually end up dead anyway.
Slicing Attack: Superior
- Ranged and Melee Attack
- Weakness: Power in Item - Hard to Lose
I couldn't tell you how I got it. I had a blurry day that I couldn't remember and when it was over I had it. I didn't even know what it was called until a few months ago. I saw one like it in a knife and tool shop, one of those places they sell weapons that're modeled after stuff you see in movies. The guy at the register called it a kukri. I did some reading on it. It was used mostly by kids and farmworkers until someone found out how nasty it was against enemy soldiers, especially when used by someone who had a lifetime of skill in using it. The phrase 'almost impossible to block' came up. This one is about a foot-and-a-half long, it's longer than most back when it was a popular weapon, it's heavy enough to break my grip if I swing too hard, and it is mean. It was scary how I might as well have been using it for months with how fast I caught on. I can start with one blind swing and keep going, again and again. I'll never get caught with this, either. I could've used a pistol or poison in the medications, but those are traceable and anything traceable is a weakness that can be exploited. Meantime I'm pretty sure I didn't buy this and no one knows I own it. I can't let something like the law stop me.
Sword Master: Standard
I remember this one guy, Billy Maddox. He's thirty or something, severely autistic, drops by with his mother every two months when she's out of prednisone. He sits in the car while she goes inside, playing with the tape deck. He has one song he plays over and over, not even the entire song, he plays a thirty-second stretch, rewinds it, and plays it again. He does this for as long as she's in the pharmacy, and I bet he does that for the entire time he's in that car. I get their address off the prescription, find their home, and look after it for a few days. He goes outside every night at eleven to sit in front of the big tree in his back yard, when his mom's fast asleep. He didn't mind me walking into his yard, didn't even resist the chloroform. I held it under his nose and after awhile he was... out. It was dark and I wasn't sure what I was hitting, and I had to run early when I might've woken up someone. I go home, wash up, and try to sleep. When I wake up in the morning, I turn on the news and see Lily Maddox crying face and the report on how her son SURVIVED the initial attack. He survived it. I caved in half his skull and nearly ripped out one of his lungs, but he SURVIVED and he lied there bleeding for three hours and somehow made it to surgery before finally dying. That day taught me to be careful and thorough. That day hurt.